Love is Patient
by Dark3Star
Summary: Mycroft and Greg are building their relationship together, slowly. Trust doesn't come easily to Mycroft, but his Detective Inspector is continuously surprising him. Caring about Gregory, trusting him, might not be as ill-advised, as Mycroft once thought. This one-shot takes place in "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling" universe.


**Greetings! Whether you have read my work before, or if you are new, I would like to thank you for taking the time to stop by. This is the beginning of the long-ago promised one-shot collection. **

**All of these one-shots can be read as standalone pieces, or together. They all take place in the same universe as "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling." They largely focus on Mystrade, but there will be some Johnlock as well.**

**Just as before, I will post a new update every Friday night, Pacific Standard Time, until all the one-shots are posted. **

**I also post at Archive of Our Own, under the same scree name, if you want to see the uncensored version of the story. I have a link on my profile page.**

**I'll leave you with one more note: this first one-shot takes place between the 24th chapter of "This Doesn't Feel Like Falling," and the epilogue. So, Mycroft and Greg are a couple, but not much else has happened yet. I hope you enjoy. ^_^**

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Love is Patient

The long drive wound its way leisurely towards Mycroft's estate, as if it were in no hurry. Greg was starting to think that was purposeful; a physical meandering that represented the mental relaxation the British Government could find few other places but here. Mycroft had a lavish townhouse in London proper, for when he was exceptionally busy, but the Detective Inspector seriously doubted that he considered it a home.

Greg shook his head at the thought, his hands sliding effortlessly over the wheel as the grand building finally came into view. It was still hard to believe this was his boyfriend's house. Boyfriend. His face wrinkled up in immediate displeasure. They were, both of them, far too old for that word.

Lover might be more appropriate...except that they hadn't yet, not exactly. Everything about their relationship was moving at a snail's pace... Not that this was a bad thing, mind you. There was something foolishly enchanting about taking things slowly, appreciating the moment. Greg had learned the hard way that if you didn't take the time to appreciate the things you cared about...they left.

Athena greeted him at the door with a warm smile. Ryan was with her. They were both high ranking agents in Mycroft's operation. Greg had met Ryan for the first time during Sherlock's infamous case in The United States, shortly after he and John had married. Greg understood, now, that his two best friends had been working the case both before and after their marriage. One could argue they had gotten married for that case, if one was stupid. Yes their marriage had benefited the case, but Greg hadn't missed the genuine affection they had for each other. The depth some people went through to lie to themselves should be astounding; he was just too used to it by now.

At least Ryan and Anthea were a bit more honest about things. For all intents and purposes, they were just colleges, but Greg could see that Ryan was trying to court her. And, for all of her no-nonsense attitude, Anthea was, albeit reluctantly, allowing herself to be courted. Compared to the two of them, he and Mycroft were in a whirlwind romance. Being familiar with Anthea's tragic past, as he suspected Ryan might also be, Greg was pleased to see she was open to the idea of building a relationship at all. Ryan, happily, seemed more than willing to wait, and enjoy the privilege of getting to know such a remarkable woman.

"I hope you two weren't waiting for me." Greg's smirk was remorseless. "I'd hate to think I'd kept you from your date."

Anthea swatted him half-heartedly, trying, and failing, to hide her own smile. "Be serious!" She admonished. "We have _work_ to do."

"Uh-huh," Greg nodded, not looking in the least contrite.

Anthea rolled her eyes at him, and reached into the fridge for what turned out to be a small bottle of dessert wine. "This should be allowable tonight," she said as she placed the chilled bottle into Greg's hands.

The Detective Inspector glanced at her suspiciously, confused over her choice of words. What did she mean by "allowable"? Greg understood that Mycroft had a dangerous job, and needed to keep his wits about him, but he'd still seen him drink before... At least, he had seen wine beside him at the dinner table, which Mycroft had appeared to sip at. One could never be too sure with a Holmes brother what was pretense and what was not.

Greg would be offended if Mycroft had only pretended to drink when they were together; he had stressed from the beginning of their relationship how important honesty was to him. Still, they had been out at restaurants all the times Greg could remember there being wine with dinner. It was no paranoia to suspect they might be being watched, and that Mycroft would need his wits about him. The danger that came with Mycroft's job also came with a high _need_ for pretense. As long as Mycroft was honest with _him_, that was all Greg cared about.

He whistled softly in appreciation as he scanned the label. It was a Trockenbeerenauslese. He liked a good stout as well as the next bloke, but he also had quite the large sweet tooth. This, naturally, had not escaped Mycroft. Very little did.

Glancing up at Anthea and Ryan, Greg nodded politely. "Thank you. I hope you two have a pleasant evening."

Anthea narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but Greg must have passed inspection because, after a moment, she nodded and returned his smile. "You as well, Detective Inspector."

"See you tomorrow," Ryan said with a grin and wave, before turning his attention back to Anthea. She had her phone out again, naturally. She and Ryan spoke softly to each other as they made their way to the front door. Ryan's hand settled softly on Anthea's back as he held the door for her. Anthea stiffened slightly, and Greg could see the worry in Ryan's eyes. After a few heartbeats, Greg could see her drawing breath again. Although both agents were out of earshot, Greg could read the words, "Thank you," on her lips as they passed through the doorway, and out into the night.

Greg smiled fondly after them. Ryan would certainly have his hands full, but he wished them both well. They deserved to be happy; especially Anthea.

Cradling the bottle of wine in one hand, Greg set off in search of one Mycroft Holmes.

Finding Mycroft in his own home, assuming he was not working, was an easy task, if you knew where and how to look. He would, inevitably, be in one of his fireplace studies with a comfortable couch and plenty of good books to read. The fastest way to find him was simply to look for the glow of the fireplace from underneath the doors as one passed by them.

Today, however, Greg found himself dawdling. There was something about the dessert wine he couldn't get out of his head. Dessert wine... Mycroft almost _never_ had dessert. Greg had tried not to make it a point of contention; in war and in life it is best to choose one's battles. Still, it rankled him that Mycroft, or anyone, but especially Mycroft would think of themselves as less attractive because of ridiculous societal standards. There were many kinds of beauty in the world, and Greg _certainly_ found Mycroft appealing. Now, if he could just get that thought through Mycroft's thick skull.

With a grimace and a sigh, Greg began his long trek down the halls of the Holmes estate. It wasn't long before he saw the soft orange glow he'd been searching for. Smiling in anticipation, the Detective Inspector slipped soundlessly into Mycroft's refuge.

At first, although the fire _was_ lit, he thought he had the wrong room. It wasn't like Mycroft to leave a fire unattended, but Greg could not perceive him anywhere in the room. He shifted his feet under him, preparing to leave, when a small 'click', no louder than the clicking of a pen, brought his attention to the darkest corner of the room. Greg craned his neck and squinted into the gloom. Slowly, a familiar silhouette resolved itself into the far corner. Mycroft was standing with his back to him, studying something small in his hands.

The silence of the room was penetrated by rhythmic, mechanical beeping, like that of an oven or a watch. Mycroft studied the object in his hand a moment longer, one finger sneaking absently into his mouth, before he nodded in apparent satisfaction.

Greg was just opening his mouth to speak when Mycroft turned, spotted him, and froze like a criminal caught in the act. There _was _guilt playing across Mycroft's subtle expression, but mostly Greg saw fear.

"Evening, Mycroft," Greg said calmly, welcoming in both tone and gesture. "What have you got there?"

Setting the wine down on the table beside the sofa, Greg stepped across the room before the British Government could quite recover, and gently grasped Mycroft's hand in his. In their joined hands, Greg saw a small oval device showing the numbers: _80mg_. Glancing up, Greg saw the finger of Mycroft's other hand slip from his mouth, the puncture mark on the pad almost invisible in the firelight.

Greg's features softened in understanding. "Mycroft, _why_ didn't you tell me?" Several heartbeats of silence prompted him to speak again. "I mean, I suppose you could say that it's none of my business, and you're probably right, but...I mean, I wouldn't have tried to push those desserts on you if I'd _known_. I thought you were just being stupid, and that you didn't think you were attractive."

Mycroft blinked slowly. "No one calls me stupid, Gregory." His voice was soft, not angry, more dumbfounded.

"Yeah, well, you _do_ deserve it, sometimes," Greg murmured, his thumbs drawing small circles into the skin of Mycroft's hands, "but not over this." Glancing down at the meter, Greg continued, "I don't know much about it, honestly, but I think those are good numbers."

Another pause lengthened before Greg lifted a hand to caress the side of Mycroft's face. "Listen, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but I'm here if you do; no judgments."

Mycroft stood resolute, searching Gregory's eyes with his own, before he, at last, replied. "Not many others know about this."

Greg nodded in understanding. "Next time Sherlock pokes fun at your weight, I'm going to arrest him."

A surprised smile broke out over Mycroft's features, and he laughed softly. "You have too much of a protective streak, Gregory."

Greg smiled in return. "You like my protective streak," he replied confidently.

Mycroft arched an inquisitive eyebrow over his smile. "Maybe I do," he admitted. Taking Greg by the elbow, Mycroft led them both over to the sofa. "How was your day, Gregory?"

The Detective Inspector's head tilted to the side, and he asked, "How long have you been diagnosed?"

Mycroft's expression hardened. "You said you would not pry, if I did not wish it."

"And you haven't asked me to let it rest," Greg countered.

Mycroft sighed loudly and turned to stare into the fire. He tried to pull his hands from Gregory's, but the Detective Inspector would not allow it. A minute ticked by, then two before Mycroft spoke again. "Ten years ago. It's been well controlled ever since."

"That's a bit young to be diagnosed with type two diabetes," Greg murmured, giving Mycroft's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Mycroft let out an unamused huff. "It is a matter of blood sugar, Gregory, not age."

Greg nodded slowly, "Well, I still think you've done an excellent job of managing it." When Mycroft did not reply, Greg added, "I don't think any less of you for it. Things happen, and you're staying on top of it. That's what you do." Greg's voice hardened slightly, "Anyone who does think less of you for it is a degenerate, and I am happy to acquaint them of that fact if need be."

Mycroft huffed again, but this time a reluctant smile curled the edges of his lips. "I can fight my own battles, Gregory."

Greg returned Mycroft's smile. "That you can, but you don't have to fight them alone."

Mycroft looked away again, a giddy feeling twisting in his chest at the intimacy in Gregory's eyes. As much as he fought against it at times, he found that honesty...quite compelling.

Greg pressed a kiss into Mycroft's neck, causing the elder Holmes brother to scrunch his neck and shy away from the sudden tickle. "And I mean what I said earlier, Mycroft," Greg murmured, "I find you _very_ appealing, both in mind and body."

Mycroft glanced sideways at Greg, with a wry smile playing on his lips. "I remember. You've said it twice now. I am starting to wonder if you intend to do anything about it."

Greg grinned at the subtle challenge, and shifted on the couch until he was straddling Mycroft.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow at Gregory's boldness. Slowly, the British Government reached up and grasped the Detective Inspector's tie between his thumb, and his first two fingers. Gregory leaned down as Mycroft gently drew him into a kiss.

Greg 'hmmed' contentedly as their lips met, revealing in their familiar warmth. Mycroft's tongue pressed between the seam of Gregory's mouth, deepening he kiss. Greg slid his hands over the crisp fabric of Mycroft's oxford shirt, his fingers slipping beneath the light gray jacket, and pushing it from Mycroft's shoulders. Mycroft leaned forward, pulling his arms free from the fabric. Greg smiled into the kiss, shrugging out of his own jacket, and letting it fall noiselessly to the floor.

Mycroft's hands tugged firmly at the material of Greg's shirt, untucking it from his trousers. Greg arched into those same hands as they slid up the bare skin of his back. The Detective Inspector's fingers relieved Mycroft of his tie, before dancing quickly over the buttons on Mycroft's shirt, parting the fabric. Gregory's lips trailed light kisses across Mycroft's jaw, and down his neck, mouthing at his pulse point.

The British Government sucked in a quiet breath and his hands dipped beneath the fabric of Gregory's pants, gripping his backside. Greg grinned wolfishly against Mycroft's chest before closing his mouth over a dusky nipple. Not all men—or all people for that matter—find nipples to be erogenous zones. Mycroft, however, was apparently one of them, because his back arched away from the sofa, providing Gregory with enough leverage to remove his shirt.

Greg stole Mycroft's surprised gasp with a kiss, dropping his hands to caress Mycroft's hips, and the edge of his trousers. "I'd like to take these off, if you'll let me," he murmured, lips still brushing against his lover's. Greg leaned back then, just enough to meet Mycroft's hazy blue gaze. They had, repeatedly, and at length, discussed the importance of honesty, both inside and outside of the bedroom. They both had permission to take liberties with the understanding that the other would stop them if need be. Even so, Greg was adamant about consent. That, and he found it rather sexy, hearing someone say that they wanted him.

Mycroft lifted a hand and caressed the side of Gregory's face. Greg turned to kiss the palm, then the sensitive inside of Mycroft's wrist. There was the tiniest tremor in Mycroft's voice when Greg swiped his tongue over the delicate blue veins. "You have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Gregory." Greg's gaze shifted back to Mycroft, who was looking at his shirt. "You're still _almost_ decent," Mycroft continued, lifting his eyes up to meet his Detective Inspector's heated brown ones.

"I can fix that," Greg whispered, bringing his hands up to his tie. He slid the fabric slowly out of its knot, and off his shoulders; Mycroft's blue eyes following his every move. Greg's fingers deliberately slipped each button from its mooring, revealing more and more skin to the firelight. Leaning back, Greg shrugged his shoulders, and let his shirt join his jacket on the floor. "Did you want this off too?" Gregory murmured, his hands skimming the front his trousers.

"Yes," Mycroft breathed, pulling Greg in for a heated kiss, before releasing him once more.

***Censored Content***

When, at last, Gregory was compelled to move, he murmured, "I don't think it would do the United Kingdom much good if I let you catch cold here on the floor."

Mycroft leisurely lifted his head from its position on Gregory's chest. "My constitution is stronger than you think." He sounded so…satisfied. The Detective Inspector would almost have described it as purring.

Greg grinned and replied, "Yeah, well, my back's not exactly what it used to be. Mind if we move this to your bed? Maybe sneak in a warm bath first."

"That sounds like a lovely plan," Mycroft agreed. Gently, he disentangled himself from his lover, and helped him to his feet.

The Detective Inspector swooped their clothing into his arms, and began to make his way towards the door when Mycroft stopped him, sounding absolutely scandalized.

"Gregory!" He hissed. "We _must_ get dressed first!"

Greg looked lazily over his shoulder and asked, "Why? It's your house. It's just us, isn't it?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and Greg fought the urge to giggle. "I _always_ keep a small security team on site. You_ know _how many windows there are here! If you insist on being naked, you must do so in my bedroom _only_!"

Greg snorted in barely concealed mirth. "As opposed to right now?"

Mycroft glared at him, but it lacked any real conviction. "Just—just refrain from being sans clothing in the hallways and other public areas, will you?"

The Detective Inspector grinned rakishly and tossed Mycroft his jacket. "Your wish, is my command."

Mycroft didn't say much the next morning. He wasn't one for lengthy discussions of his feelings. What he did do, however, was check his blood sugar. He was sat across the kitchen island from Gregory, waiting for the Detective Inspector to finish cooking their mushroom omelets. He did it casually, with no attempt at deception, and Greg found there was no need to say anything more.


End file.
